It's hard to write about my mother. I noticed in yesterday's post, Singing, that I referred to my mother in the past tense, not just the memories of my childhood, but her. It hurt my heart. I struggled to choose the right wording because my mother is alive and still with us, but she is not the same.
My mother survived brain cancer. She made a decision, shortly after her diagnosis, that she would live to meet her first grandson, with whom I was pregnant at the time of her diagnosis. She has since met her grandson, two granddaughters, a step-grandson and two step-granddaughters. This Sunday she will join us to celebrate my son's 13th birthday. Every day we remember what we faced losing all those years ago.
But, my mom is different now. Her cancer treatment has changed her. While I am grateful every day that I can stop by my parents' house and say hello, I miss the days when I could call her up to ask her advice about a struggling student, or the challenges of keeping up with the rapid-fire educational initiatives that fill a teachers' plate these days, or the trials of motherhood. It's just not the same. I'm okay with that because I am fortunate to still have my mother with me. I just don't know how to write about her.